Rebellion Rising from the Depths: Mocked by the Hero Who Impregnated My Childhood Friend Before My Very Eyes. - Chapter 13: A Minor Repayment.

A Minor Repayment.

That night, Noah didn’t sleep at all.

The hideout provided for the Second Princess was the second floor of an old printing workshop on the outskirts of the Royal Capital’s West District. On the surface, it looked like a abandoned, defunct building, but inside, it was stocked with a minimal cot, water, bandages, and dry rations. It was apparently a fallback point used occasionally by the Princess’s shadows. It was safe enough, likely. Yet, even when Noah laid his body down on the cot, his mind refused to permit him sleep.

Staring up at the stains on the ceiling, his mind filled with nothing but the stench of the interrogation room.

Wet stone. Burnt flesh. Iron and blood. The heavy footsteps of Chief Warden Becker. The voices casually consulting each other with a laugh about which finger to drive the needle into next.

And Leon’s voice, too.

—You were useful. Far more than I imagined.

Noah closed his eyes beneath the blanket and slowly opened his left hand. The crest on his palm cast a faint, sunken crimson glow even in the dimly lit room. If he chose to look, he could still see it. The record of pain etched into his very flesh. Who had forced what upon him, and who had stood by completely unscathed.

In his heart, he retraced the words of the vow he had made before his father’s grave.

I will return it.

Not a mere killing. Not a simple erasure. He would make them taste it. The pain of being the one stripped of everything. The despair. The total absence of escape.

Just as the sky outside the window began to turn faintly white, the door clicked twice, softly.

It was the signal from the Princess’s shadow.

When Noah opened the door, a woman clad in black—the short-haired shadow who had pressed a blade to his throat the previous night—stood there. Her expression was as utterly devoid of amiability as ever as she extended a slip of paper.

“He moved.” “Becker?”

The woman nodded.

“Chief Warden Becker Durant. He was scheduled to incinerate a portion of the relevant ledgers in the Underground Detention District sometime tonight, but it seems an urgent gag order arrived first. He left the records to his subordinates and made arrangements to meet someone outside.” “Where?” “Near the old gallows ruins in the Southern District. It’s an area currently filled with nothing but warehouses and cargo handling sheds.”

Written on the slip of paper was a simple map, along with the secret pathways Becker frequented and the blind spots in the patrols.

“Any guards?” “Two at first. However, since the contact he’s meeting belongs to the Hero’s estate—specifically on the head butler’s side—he has a habit of splitting off from them before reaching the location.” “To ensure they can secure him easily?” “From what we’ve observed, yes.”

Noah folded the slip of paper and slid it inside his coat.

The woman lowered her voice just a fraction.

“A message from Her Highness. She doesn’t say ‘do not kill.’ However, if you can make him talk, make him talk.” “I’ll manage.” “And one more thing.”

The shadow woman held out a small crystalline fragment. It was a clear, thumb-sized stone.

“A recording crystal. It only captures audio, but it will pick up sounds at close range. Use it if you can extract a confession.” “Convenient.” “I only carry convenient things.”

Leaving it at that, the woman turned on her heel. As she made her way down the stairs, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.

“…The Chief Warden is a regular in the underground private interrogation rooms. He ought to know a fair deal about matters other than your own.”

It was neither encouragement nor sympathy. She had merely left it behind as necessary information.

Noah closed the door.

In the corner of the room, Fiona was already awake. Though she couldn’t have slept at all last night, she had finished washing her face and was currently wrapping the various records back into a cloth bundle.

“You heard?” “Yes. Whether I wanted to or not.”

Fiona stood up and offered a small paper medicinal packet to Noah.

“A painkiller. It’s not a strong one. It would be troublesome if it dulled your head.” “Can you still whip these up?” “I haven’t forgotten the measurements I memorized during my time as a candidate.”

Noah accepted it and let it drop onto his tongue. Bitter. But the wound in his flank, which she had stitched up the previous night, receded just a bit further into the distance.

Fiona stared at Noah’s face for a short while before finally speaking in a low voice.

“Don’t go too far.” “Who are you talking to?” “You know exactly what I mean.”

With that single remark, Noah found himself at a loss for words.

He knew. His current self was resting on a knife’s edge. The exact moment he had heard Becker’s name, what surfaced in the depths of his chest wasn’t an interrogation—it was that man’s screams.

Fiona continued.

“You can break him. But make him spit it out before you do.” “…I’ll manage.” “The same answer as before.” “Because I’m thinking the exact same thing.”

Fiona didn’t even manage a bitter smile; she simply looked straight into Noah’s eyes.

“You’ve grown far too accustomed to pain. Sometimes, you lose sight of just how angry you actually are.” “Then what do you want me to do?” “Remember this. What you’re returning is vengeance, not self-destruction.”

Noah remained silent for a time. His father’s final words—Live—resurrected themselves in a strange corner of his mind.

“…Understood.”

When he gave that solitary reply, Fiona offered a small nod.

“Come back alive.” “I won’t make promises.” “I know. That’s why I’m just saying it.”

Throughout the day, Noah focused entirely on resting his body.

He didn’t force himself to sleep. He merely closed his eyes, regulated his breathing, and sank his consciousness down into the crest on his palm. When he did, he could see numerous faint threads. His wounds. The searing heat of the branding iron he had received from Becker. The agonizing sting of the needles driven beneath his fingernails. The parching thirst that made his throat feel as though it were tearing apart from lack of water. The convulsions of vomiting gastric juices after being struck in the stomach repeatedly. Every single instance remained driven deep inside him, still connected.

He could probably return all of it.

But if he returned it all at once, Becker would either die on the spot or break so entirely that he would lose the capacity for speech. Clarisse didn’t want a corpse. She wanted a talking witness.

In that case, he would return just enough.

Right up to the brink of shattering.

Once that was decided, his mind grew conversely cold and clear.

By the time night fell, the festive lights of the city had quieted down somewhat compared to the previous day. While the lingering afterglow of the engagement announcement still drifted through the streets, the populace’s excitement was already shifting toward the next grand event—the coronation. Leon was likely preparing to seat himself upon an even higher perch at this very moment.

Noah pulled his coat deep over his head and headed toward the back alleys near the old gallows ruins.

In that particular sector of the Southern District, foot traffic plummeted rapidly once the sun dipped below the horizon. Warehouses, cargo handling sheds, abandoned buildings, and old stone walls. Because of its history as an execution ground, the local citizens refused to venture near it at night. For that very reason, it was the perfect venue for handing off dirty work.

Noah concealed himself within the shadow of a crumbling brick wall along one of the bypass routes indicated by the shadow woman. After a brief wait, footsteps approached.

Two sets.

The first to come into view was a gaunt man who appeared to be a subordinate. Following closely behind him, a massive shadow materialized.

Becker Durant.

Noah recognized him at a single glance.

The thick neck. The broken nose. A girth that made itself obvious even over his leather armor. His gait seemed sluggish, but in reality, his center of gravity was remarkably low. It was the stride of a man thoroughly accustomed to beating prisoners in the dark of the underground. A nightstick and a dagger hung from his waist. He was laughing as he said something to his subordinate.

“That’s why I told you. That candidate girl is finished tonight too.” “But Chief Warden, what if Her Highness has already made a move?” “There’s no way a princess is going to stick her neck into this kind of mud. The royal family is too busy right now with the Hero’s engagement and the coronation.”

Becker snorted in amusement.

“That’s less likely than the dead coming back to life.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed.

The two men came to a halt just before the old gallows ruins, and after a brief exchange, the subordinate vanished down the opposite alleyway. Exactly as anticipated. Becker proceeded toward the rendezvous point entirely alone.

Noah detached himself from the shadows and circled around to an alternate narrow path. The route Becker was taking was a cramped stone lane that cut behind the cargo handling sheds. To the right was a towering wall; to the left was a collapsed fence, beyond which lay a deep drainage ditch. It was a narrow space, offering little room to flee or dodge.

The moment Becker stepped into the alley, Noah revealed himself at the far exit.

Initially, Becker merely knitted his brows in sheer irritation.

“Who the hell are you?”

The moonlight was thin. A figure standing with a coat pulled low over their head looked like nothing more than a vagrant or a common drunk.

Noah didn’t answer; he slowly pushed back his hood.

Though the bruising on his cheek was faintly concealed, it hadn’t vanished entirely. The gaunt cheeks hollowed out by the Abyss, the thin jaw, and above all else—those eyes.

The blood drained from Becker’s face in an instant.

“…Huh?”

In the next heartbeat, the man staggered a step backward.

“Im-Impossible…”

Noah took a single step forward.

“I hear that often.” “You… in the Abyss…” “You dropped me there. Personally.”

Becker’s throat hitched. It was the face of a man whose sobriety had returned in a flash.

Yet, in the very next instant, his expression reverted to the same brutal, thuggish countenance he wore when looking down on prisoners in the underground. He likely had a habit of crushing his own terror beneath a roaring voice.

“You bastard… you just don’t know when to die!”

Drawing his dagger, he lunged straight at Noah. The difference in their physical build was still immense. Engaging him head-on would be disadvantageous. However, the current Noah was no longer a mere auxiliary who existed solely to be cut down.

The blade flashed. Noah stepped back half a pace, evading by the absolute barest margin. The dagger tore through the hem of his coat. Becker pressed inward, using his bulk to ram forward. It was the exact same combat style he used to break rampaging prisoners through sheer brute force.

“You miserable survivor, go drop down there one more time!”

Noah grabbed the downswinging arm with his left hand.

At that exact instant, he saw them.

The threads.

Thick, murky threads—dozens of them—were driven from Becker’s body straight into Noah. The searing iron. The needles. The water torture. The sleep deprivation. The blows to the abdomen. The kicks to the ribs. The parched throat. The nausea. The terror. Everything forced upon him in that interrogation room throughout that single night was still etched inside Noah, tethered directly to this man.

He could return all of it.

All of it, right here and now.

But within that bundle, Noah observed each thread one by one. He selected. The volume. The duration. Not a fatal blow, but the exact amount required to shatter the man’s spirit.

A single night’s worth.

Even that alone would be more than enough.

“…This belongs to you.”

Becker’s eyes flew wide.

“What are you—”

“I’m returning it.”

The crest on his palm flared with a dark, reddish-black light.

In the next fraction of a second, all strength drained completely from Becker’s arm.

“Gah…!?”

The dagger clattered against the cobblestones. The man clutched his right arm. A dull, agonizing pain that seemed to grind into the very marrow of his bones rushed into him all at once, as if needles were piercing through him and his skin was on fire. But it didn’t stop there.

To his stomach. To his chest. To his throat. To the backs of his eyes.

The single night’s worth of agony forced upon Noah rushed into Becker without order, and without a shred of mercy.

“Gyaa… aaaahhh!?”

Becker dropped to his knees. Next, he slammed his hands against the cobblestones, immediately retching. But nothing but gastric juices came forth. His throat was completely parched, his breath caught, the inside of his ribs creaked, and the depths of his abdomen convulsed violently. A heat akin to a branding iron being pressed into his flesh and a terror resembling cold water constricting his lungs struck him simultaneously.

Noah didn’t retreat a single inch.

Becker thrashed about on the ground, clawing frantically at his own arms and chest. There were no visible wounds to be seen upon him. Yet his body cried out, declaring with absolute certainty that it was being torn apart from within.

“Stop… please… stop it…!!”

Even as he listened to those screams, Noah’s expression remained entirely frozen.

He merely looked down with cold indifference and spoke.

“It’s only a single night.”

Becker’s thrashing ceased for an instant.

Noah continued.

“The exact equivalent of the single night you gifted me down in that underground.”

His voice was low, completely devoid of emotion.

“It’s a mere fraction of the pain that’s been forced upon people for years. It doesn’t even amount to the interest.”

Becker looked up at Noah with trembling eyes. He had realized it. He understood that the thing currently devouring his body from the inside out was the very agony he had inflicted upon someone else.

“Y-You monster…” “No.”

Noah knelt down and grabbed Becker by the collar.

“You are simply tasting what you yourself have done.”

Becker attempted to scream, but the next wave of agony choked his throat. Incapable of breathing properly, he clawed at the ground. The sound of fingernails splitting against the cobblestones echoed through the lane.

Noah returned just a fraction more.

This time, it was the crushing sensation within the skull after prolonged sleep deprivation, coupled with the raw terror experienced right before a throat is strangled shut.

Becker’s pupils dilated.

“Hie… eek… st-stop, it’s an order! I was only following orders…!”

That was the exact phrase he had been waiting for.

Noah smoothly slid the crystal fragment from the inside of his coat and brought it close to Becker’s ear. The stone emitted a faint glow. It was capturing the audio.

“Whose?” “L-Lord Leon…!”

Becker was on the verge of tears. His face was a wretched mess of snot, tears, and sweat. It was impossible to reconcile this figure with the man who had laughed at prisoners down in the dark.

“The Hero’s butler, Wald… and the Vice Guildmaster… they told me to shut his mouth… to pack him off to the Abyss…! It wasn’t just me!” “Who manages the private interrogation room?” “The Hero’s estate…! The entry and exit to the underground, the altering of records… the people on the Temple’s side are the ones doing it…!” “What about the record of my transport?” “It was rewritten to look like a escape! The Vice Guildmaster told me to do it… said they would handle the paperwork on their end…!”

Noah questioned him without a single change in his expression.

“On that day, what did Lydie know?”

Becker’s face contorted. He clearly hadn’t expected the questioning to cut that deep.

“I-I don’t know… not everything… but…” “But?” “She was crying… she said to just put an end to it… before that incompetent fool could make a scene, just end it already…!”

Inside Noah, something snapped with a quiet, hollow sound.

She was crying. Put an end to it, she had said. On that night, that woman hadn’t merely been playing the part of the victim until the very end. For the sake of her own self-preservation, she had actively desired his mouth to be stopped permanently.

There was anger. Yet it did not explode. Instead, it sank deep and turned cold, like a stone resting at the very bottom of the Abyss.

Becker was still wailing.

“That’s enough, isn’t it… I-I’m sorry…! I only did it for the money! If the superiors are the ones ordering it, there’s no defying them…!” “For money?” “Y-Yes…! Don’t pin everything on me…! There have been plenty of others who died…!”

Catching himself mid-sentence, Becker abruptly clamped his mouth shut.

Noah’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“Others? What about them?” “…” “Speak.”

The crest on his palm grew faintly warm. From that motion alone, a panicked shriek escaped Becker’s throat.

“It hurts…! There were others like you…! Auxiliaries, healers…! Once they broke and vanished… I carried them out several times…! I don’t know their names…!”

The proxies.

The faint columns of names he had glimpsed within the Guild Archive flashed across the back of his mind.

It was exactly as he thought. This man had been transporting them. The “disposable tools.”

Noah remained motionless, looking down at Becker for a long while.

By merely returning a single night’s worth of pain, this man was already on the verge of breaking completely. He truly wasn’t much of a man at all. The only reason he had been able to wear the face of the strong was because the opponents strapped to his interrogation tables were entirely incapable of resisting. The moment it came back around to him, this was the result.

Even so, Noah spoke one final time.

“Remember this.”

Becker turned his tear-stained eyes toward him.

“This is still only a single night’s worth.” “Hie…” “At the bottom of the Abyss, I looked upon far more. Everything that you bastards have forced upon others.”

Noah released his grip on Becker’s shirt.

The man collapsed entirely onto the cobblestones, his throat rattling with the simple effort of drawing breath. His eyes were utterly consumed by terror. With this, it was highly doubtful whether he would ever be capable of smiling through an interrogation again.

From the far end of the alley, footsteps drew near.

The shadows had arrived.

The short-haired woman materialized alongside two of her subordinates, casting a brief glance at the prone Becker and then at Noah. There was no surprise in her eyes. Only the cold efficiency of someone confirming a set of facts.

“Did you get it?” “More than enough.”

When Noah tossed the recording crystal, the woman caught it with a single hand. Confirming its faint luminescence, she narrowed her eyes in satisfaction.

“Indeed. The chain of command, a confession, falsification of transport records, other individuals slated for disposal… this possesses genuine value.” “Value, is it.” “Evidence is measured by its value.”

It seemed she possessed no further thoughts on the matter.

The shadows bound Becker with practiced efficiency. The man was halfway out of his mind, offering no meaningful resistance even as the ropes were coiled around him. He merely continued to spit out fragmented, nonsensical words.

“The… the Abyss…” “It came… to return it…” “It’s not mine… that night, it was just an order…”

The short-haired woman listened to his words, her brows failing to twitch even a fraction as she spoke.

“By tomorrow morning, we will have him returned to a private cell within the Detention District. Officially, he will have suffered a fit brought on by severe intoxication.” “Will he talk?” “He will talk.”

The woman replied while looking down at Becker.

“Human beings are at their weakest when facing pain they cannot see.”

Noah offered no response to her words.

The shadows departed, taking Becker along with them. Until the very last moment, the man stared at Noah with frantic, wild eyes—as though he were looking at a literal wraith that had crawled its way out from the depths of the Abyss.

Left entirely alone in the alleyway, Noah placed a hand against the wall.

The sensation that arrived in the aftermath wasn’t pure exhilaration. Deep within his chest, there was a sensation akin to a dull, hollow void. He had finally returned one piece. A single night’s worth. To a single person. Even so, he had undoubtedly returned it.

Yet his father would not return. His home would not return. His mother’s ring was still gleaming on the finger of the woman standing beside Leon.

Therefore, this truly didn’t even amount to the interest.

“…How small.”

A voice that wasn’t quite self-derision leaked from his lips.

Yet, that very smallness was, conversely, a good thing.

What his current self required wasn’t a flashy miracle that would upturn the entire world in a single blow. It was the absolute certainty of returning the inescapable reality, one piece at a time.

Late that night, when he returned to the hideout, Fiona was waiting just before the door. The moment she caught sight of Noah’s face, she asked nothing; she simply ushered him into the room and handed him a glass of water. After draining it in a single draught, Noah placed a duplicate of the crystal onto the desk.

“I got it.” “…How far did he go?” “Far enough.”

With that alone, Fiona seemed to understand. She took the crystal into her hand, closing her eyes as if to verify its contents. Eventually, she let out a quiet breath.

“The Chief Warden is finished.” “He’s still alive.” “It’s better that he’s alive. Because he still has a mouth.”

Noah seated himself in a chair and remained motionless for a time. The trembling in his hands arrived late. The exhaustion he hadn’t felt while his blood was pumping with rage came rushing back into his entire body all at once.

Fiona spoke softly.

“…How was it?” “What do you mean?” “The sensation of returning it.”

What a strange question to ask, Noah thought. Yet, when he searched for the words, it was surprisingly difficult to articulate.

“It doesn’t make things any lighter.”

After a brief pause, he answered.

“Just because I returned it doesn’t mean it vanishes from within me entirely. A wound remains a wound.” “I see.” “However…”

Noah looked down at the crest on his palm.

“It’s different from simply staying silent and sinking under the weight of what was forced upon you.”

Fiona said nothing; she merely nodded.

The following morning, a bizarre rumor began to circulate through the backstreets of the Royal Capital.

The Chief Warden of the Underground Detention District had been discovered during the night in a state of near-total madness. Despite having no visible wounds upon his body, his fingernails were split, his throat was shredded, and he was wailing frantically as if begging someone for forgiveness. Furthermore, the words he was babbling were entirely peculiar.

—The Abyss has come to return it. —The incompetent fool who was supposed to be dead has come to return the pain.

The ones who initially turned it into a laughing matter were the low-level laborers of the Detention District. By the time it reached the taverns, it had gathered embellishments, eventually reaching the ears of the disposers, until it was finally whispered within the back alleys of the Southern District.

“The Abyssal Returner has appeared.”

No one truly believed it just yet. It was a mere ghost story. Nonsensical chatter over drinks. Yet, once those sorts of rumors are born, they possess a strange, resilient strength.

Because human beings love a dark curse story just as much as they love a grand heroic tale on the surface.

Noah listened to the rumors while gazing outside from the window of the hideout.

It was still small. Still a laughing matter. But that was perfectly fine.

In the beginning, everyone assumes it’s nothing more than a rumor. Eventually, an unignorable number of facts come to hang from it. And then one day, the color drains completely from the faces of the people who had been laughing.

Noah stared past the window, looking out toward the bell tower of the Royal Capital shrouded in the morning mist.

Chief Warden Becker. The first installment of the repayment was complete.

Next, he would aim higher.